


Codes & Keys

by yours_eternally



Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Showing Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘Is it starting to come back to you how boring watching me practice is?’ Ricky says, after another couple of bars.'I’m not bored,’ Chris says. Ricky snorts softly, letting his hands still. Then Chris asks: ‘you want to do something else?’‘Sure,’ Ricky says, eyes on his face. It's already occurred to him that Chris hasn't come to his room this early so they can walk down to breakfast together. And when Chris reaches over to carefully lift the guitar from his lap, setting it on the floor propped against the bed, and returns to Ricky’s personal space he knows he’s right.Trying to loosen up a stiff shoulder, Ricky’s practising in his hotel room. When Chris makes an early morning visit, he has a few ideas of what else he’d like to see Ricky do.
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Ricky "Horror" Olson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Codes & Keys

Ricky rubs his shoulder again, gritting his teeth. He’d slept on it weird (mother _fucking_ bus bunks) and had had to ice it after the show yesterday. It had woken him twinging. So he's up.

Since they’re on a rest day in the hotel, he'd begged his back-up electric to practice on — hoping to loosen it up. His tech had eventually handed over the case, expression tragic like he was relinquishing his first-born child, extracting a promise from Ricky not to so much as _breathe_ on it too hard.  
  
Ricky curls around the custom Ibanez comfortably. It’s familiar; his fingers on the strings. He's sitting crossed-legged in the centre of the mattress, pillows and duvet strewn around him forming a nest. He shifts his knee, trying to get the guitar into a better position, so as not to pull his shoulder more. He strums, forming chords at random before settling into a scale.

There’s a knock at his door and Ricky stands, dumping the guitar behind him on the mussed bed, letting it bounce, before remembering his promise. Ricky lets Chris in and quickly returns to turn the guitar over.

‘How’d you get that off the bus?’ Chris asks, following him to perch on the bed as well. Ricky glances at him; freshly showered and in a t-shirt that says _The Exorcist_ on it. Bright and breezy, and smiling at Ricky like it's not the crack of fucking dawn.

‘I _asked_ ,’ Ricky says defensively, making Chris laugh at him, ‘I thought it might help with whatever this shit is.’ He rotates his shoulder demonstratively and Chris snorts.

‘You’re getting old, man,’ he says, grinning.

‘Fuck you,’ Ricky grunts, sticking his tongue out at Chris and pulling the guitar back into his lap. Chris laughs again.

‘Don’t be such a dick, _Rick_ ,’ Chris says and Ricky groans. Chris chuckles, though he’s making a more sympathetic face as he reaches out to put a hand on the offending shoulder. Ricky lets him, leaning into the touch; Chris’ hand is so fucking warm and pressing right into the joint. It’s perfect.

‘Play me something,’ Chris says, dropping his hand, eyes on Ricky’s fingers where they rest on the sleek guitar neck. Ricky rolls his eyes. ‘—c’mon, I like seeing you play.’

‘You literally see me play every night,’ he says, starting to pick out a tune.

‘Yeah, but it’s not like—’ Chris gestures to the handspan of space between them, and Ricky smiles because he sort of gets it. So he plays.

He switches songs, singing under his breath (because he's just woken up and his throat feels like sandpaper) over the metallic sound of the unplugged electric. Chris’ eyes are tracking the moments of his hands, and Ricky wonders what he’s thinking. And it’s dumb but he’s self-conscious; Chris’ gaze making him feel observed in a way being on stage before a crowd doesn’t. He can feel the mattress shift as Chris moves closer. He keeps strumming, eyes on the fretboard.

‘Is it starting to come back to you how boring watching me practice is?’ Ricky says, after another couple of bars.

‘I’m not bored,’ Chris says. Ricky snorts softly, letting his hands still. Then Chris asks: ‘you want to do something else?’

‘Sure,’ Ricky says, eyes on his face. It's already occurred to him that Chris hasn't come to his room this early so they can walk down to breakfast together. And when Chris reaches over to carefully lift the guitar from his lap, setting it on the floor propped against the bed, and returns to Ricky’s personal space he knows he’s right.

Chris leans in even closer, and Ricky can feel his breath on his lips a split second before Chris kisses him. It’s soft and closed-lipped, like salt-water; the light press of Chris’ mouth just makes him thirstier for more.

‘Lie down,’ Chris murmurs, one palm coming up to the centre of Ricky’s chest. Ricky lets Chris push him onto his back. Chris toes off his sneakers and climbs on the bed as well, kneeling between Ricky’s legs.

‘And now?’ Ricky asks, pushing up onto his elbows. Chris shrugs, tugging at the hem of Ricky’s t-shirt. Ricky takes the hint and pulls it up his stomach. Chris slides his hands up Ricky’s sides and over his ribs. Ricky hums, pressing up into his palms. Chris shuffles on his knees, thumbs sliding under Ricky’s waistband.

‘You going to show me something?’ Chris asks, thumbing over Ricky’s hip bones. Ricky wets his lips, thinking. Chris strips his lower half (just his underwear since he hadn't bothered to dress yet) lifting his feet carefully one at a time. Ricky snorts softly and squirms his t-shirt more up his stomach, too lazy and comfortable to strip off completely.

‘Like—’ Ricky says, letting his forefinger trace down the line of hair below his navel.

‘Yeah,’ Chris says, voice tight, getting his heels under him. His eyes flick to Ricky’s chipped nails, ‘yeah, just like that, baby.’ Ricky sucks his lip; it’s cute when Chris is worked up like this.

Ricky fits a hand around his dick, thumb smoothing over the head. He shifts on the mattress a little; the way Chris is looking at him is making him hot all over.

He strokes himself slowly until he’s properly hard. He’s not really used to jerking off on his back and it’s weird to be almost totally naked. Chris makes a soft noise, hands digging into his knees. With a flicker of heat, Ricky realises Chris is still completely dressed and obviously barely able to restrain himself.

Ricky holds out his empty hand, watching him, and Chris bends to let Ricky touch his face. Ricky’s fingertips trace along the lettering on his jaw then up to smudge over his lips. Chris opens his mouth, sucking Ricky’s fingers inside and releases them licking a wet stripe across his palm. Ricky shivers. He brings his hand back to his dick and slicks it down the length as Chris watches.

Ricky bits his lip, starting to get more into it. He can feel Chris’ eyes on him and the pressure of his observation is making a flush prickle across his chest and to his throat, making him sweat in the t-shirt pushed up around his ribs. He grips the bed above his head with his free hand, stretching out. He can see Chris’ eyes move down the length of his body.

Chris’ hand moves to rest on Ricky’s knee, pushing lightly to make him open his legs more. Then his fingertips track down the inside of his thigh, where his skin is so sensitive Ricky wants to scream. It’s almost unbearable. He just wants something — _anything_ — more.

He groans, back arching as he pushes up into his own hand. Chris’ hand moves lower and he can feel it brush behind his balls and his eyes flick open but Chris has already moved his hand to stroke up Ricky’s other leg.

‘Come _on_ ,’ Ricky pants, feeling Chris’ hand squeezing his thigh. His hand feels so hot Ricky’s surprised it’s not leaving a mark on his skin.

‘Did you want something, baby?’ Chris asks and Rick glares at his evil grin. Ricky shakes his head; two people can play that game. Brings up his free hand, he sucks his two longest fingers, not looking away from Chris as he lowers his hand again. Chris twitches toward him involuntarily as Ricky puts his hand between his thighs, huffing out a breath when his spit-slick fingers brush over his hole.

‘Fucking hell, Rick,’ Chris murmurs reverently, eyes on the finger Ricky’s now easing in and out of himself. Ricky whines. His dick is throbbing in his hand, distracting him from working himself slowly open. Chris cracks. He palms the back of Ricky’s thighs, to support him, so he can lengthen his lower back against the mattress. Ricky adds another finger, biting his lip.

‘Where’s the lube, baby?’ Chris says, voice quiet like he doesn’t want to startle him. Ricky’s eyes flicker as he tries to process the question through the blood pounding in his ears.

‘Yeah, um,’ he says, at last, ‘bathroom, the bag in the bathroom, inside the like inside zip pocket thing.’ He pants as Chris climbs off the bed, removing his hands from himself. Lying on his back with his legs up is kind of putting all his weight on his bad shoulder but he’s so wound up he’s finding it difficult to care.

Chris comes back, dropping the tube on the bed and undressing while Ricky lays watching him. Chris crawls towards him, stopping when he can plant his hands either side of Ricky’s hips. Ricky takes the opportunity to wrap his arms and legs around him, dragging, heels digging into his back. Chris groans, letting Ricky pull him down on top of him. Chris holds his shoulders as Ricky licks into his mouth. Chris kisses him back, hand tight in his hair. Ricky can feel Chris’ dick, pressing hard against his stomach.

‘ _Mmhm_ ,’ Chris says, sitting up again, scrabbling in the sheets for the lube. Ricky watches him, heart pounding against his ribs. He can feel Chris’ skin sticking everywhere they’re touching.

Chris strokes a dry finger over his hole. Ricky feels himself tense on instinct, though he’s more than ready to go. Chris takes his hand back, squeezing Ricky’s thigh gently.

‘Keep going,’ Ricky says, breathless, and Chris nods, reaching for the lube and flipping the cap. Chris takes hold of Ricky’s leg with his other hand, bending it back so Ricky’s spread out. Ricky’s face is burning as he tries to not squirm while Chris slides a lubed finger inside him. Ricky gasps, he can feel his toes curling and has to fight the urge to fuck himself down until Chris is in him up to the wrist.

‘— _Christ_ ,’ Chris says, the nails of his other hand digging into Ricky’s thigh as he adds another finger. Ricky whines. Chris snorts softly, rocking his fingers in and out of him. ‘You like that, huh?’

‘ _Mmm_ yeah,’ Ricky mumbles because it’s using most of his concentration not to touch his dick. His breath is coming in short gasps and when Chris adds another finger Ricky’s eyes nearly roll back in his head.

Chris is looking down at him, eyes dark and glossy. Ricky can see Chris’ dick straining against his thighs and wants it.

‘Can we—’ Ricky pants, ‘I want to—’

‘Fuck?’ Chris supplies softly, removing his hand and reaching for the lube again. Ricky nods and Chris strokes the lube onto his dick, still looking at Ricky. When he’s done Chris reaches for him and Ricky lets him arrange his limbs, bending and folding him up until he’s perfectly aligned. Ricky moans as he feels Chris’ dick slick against his skin.

Chris takes hold of himself pressing into Ricky’s body. Ricky exhales, muscles in his thighs taut as Chris slides deeper. He's going slow but Ricky’s impatient and it’s just on the borderline of painful. Chris’ eyes are on his face, checking. Ricky looks back. Chris looks incredible like this; his jaw tight with concentration; his hair messily brushed back; a flush mottling his cheeks.

‘Okay, baby?’ Chris asks. When Ricky nods he pulls back and pushes back in again slowly. Chris sets up an easy pace and it’s maddening. Ricky groans, nails digging into Chris’ shoulders, trying to push up into him but it’s almost impossible given their position.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Chris grunts, breathing out shakily as he speeds up a little. Ricky arches his back into Chris’ downwards thrusts, lights flickering behind his eyes. Chris shifts, hand sinking into the mattress at Ricky’s ribs. The movement pulls Ricky’s shoulder, which he’d forgotten about until a twist of pain shoots across his back.

‘What?’ Chris says, freezing immediately, and Ricky realises he must have seen him grimace.

‘Nothing,’ he says shaking his head, ‘—it’s fine, just my shoulder.’ Chris frowns at him.

‘Do you want to try lying on your stomach?’ he asks and Ricky nods, giving in to Chris' look of concern.

So Chris pulls out and he rolls, getting his hands and knees under him. Chris makes an appreciative noise, hands smoothing over the curve of Ricky’s spine. Ricky glances over his shoulder and Chris kisses his shoulder as he moves closer, nudging Ricky’s knees wider. He pushes in much faster this time making Ricky gasp, hands clawing in the sheets.

Ricky moans low in his throat. Chris is holding his hips to keep him in place as he starts moving. Ricky pants, sinking onto his elbows. He can feel Chris’ skin sliding against his, slick with sweat. He feels so good; filling Ricky over and over, sending sharp-edged pleasure up his spine and down his thighs with every thrust.

‘ _Chris_ —’ Ricky says, feeling his edge.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ Chris says, ‘I got you.’ He lets go of Ricky’s hip and takes hold of his dick instead; his strokes short and firm. Ricky whines, writhing. It takes only a few of Chris’ rough pulls and he comes with a gasp. For a moment his vision whites out and it’s all he can do to keep himself upright while Chris stokes him through it, mumbling into his hair.

Ricky can hear Chris’ ragged breathing in his ear, body twitching with aftershocks, as his thrusts get faster until he stills and comes with a low moan, hips rocking into a final shallow thrust. Chris pulls out of him and Ricky can feel the evidence of his orgasm on the back of his thigh.

Ricky lets himself flop onto his stomach as Chris collapses next to him on the bed. When Ricky turns a little to look at him, he’s breathing heavily and glassy eyed. Ricky’s ears are ringing and he is having difficulty focusing. Chris exhales and Ricky can feel his hand stroking his hair. There’s no sounds but their breathing and Ricky’s just drifting off again when Chris speaks: ‘c’mon, you can have the first shower.’

‘Five minutes,’ Ricky says, yawning. Chris laughs and sits up, leaving the side of Ricky’s body where he’d been lying against him cold. Ricky gives up, forces himself upright and drops his feet to the carpet. As he closes the door of the bathroom behind him he can see Chris picking up the guitar from the side of the bed and settling it into his lap.

**Author's Note:**

> [xyours-eternallyx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xyours-eternallyx) on tumblr 🙌


End file.
